


Mr Zeller and Dr Price and the Curse of the Mummy.

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: 1886, Ch 2/3 guest spot for Dr Hannibal Lecter, Egyptian Mummies, F/M, Gen, Jimmy's twin Timmy, Other, Outside Canon, The Curse of the Mummy, Thirty Glorious Chapters!, This Dangerous Game AU, Victorian Team Sassy Science, casefic, egregious use of bad b movie Mummy Film tropes, victorian london
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: Mummys going missing across London seem like the least of Dr James Price's worries, but when their owners start turning up, rather dead themselves, the Curse of the Mummy seems like more than just a superstition."'Dr Price what is that? He looks, he looks, and I can scarce believe it, as though he was frightened to death!''He does Mr Zeller. He truly does. And the victim's not doing too well either''Dr Price' admonishes his assstant, 'you really shouldn't. His poor Mummy'The two men look at one another and try very hard not to laugh in an utterly unacceptable albeit understandable way.'That's very good Mr Zeller' whispers Sgt Matthews.The three men share a moment of silent mirth. The Mummy lying abed next to Lord Falcon provides a tidy counterpart to the deceased Peer. Indeed the maidservant who'd brought morning tea hadn't noticed at first that it wasn't her Ladyship."Updating several times a week. Think of it as the Victorian version of Team Sassy Science. Tags and characters added as they become relevant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissDisoriental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDisoriental/gifts).
  * Inspired by [This Dangerous Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883905) by [MissDisoriental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDisoriental/pseuds/MissDisoriental). 



> Inspired by the wonderful 'This Dangerous Game' set in the same Universe. The year is 1886 (two years before TDG), London is our locale, and our eponymous heroes face a game of wits and wickedness they could never have anticipated.
> 
> Further notes at the end.

In a dark crypt not far from the Thames two men labour under the weight of a long wooden crate. They carefully manoeuvre between other similar boxes stacked one atop another. Eventually they shift the dead weight between them into a corner on top of another box.

'Alright?'

'I reckon. Boss said just to stack it like the others'

'Good job. Now let's get the fuck out of here. This place gives me the 'effin' creeps'

................

Dr James Price clears his throat as he turns the page of the London Times. Home Rule, the General Election, hmm. The opening of the Mersey Rail. Rioting. Hmm. More rioting. Not the best of years for British politics. He endeavours to find something of interest in part to avoid addressing the constant sighing of his sister.

Adelaide Price sighs again. If she keeps it up for another four or five sighs Jim will feel obliged to enquire. She can hold out that long though it galls her to do so. She eats another bite of toast. Spread with butter and some rather nice orange preserve. Sadly there are no kippers under the covers on the sideboard. And really Jim must pay her some attention the situation below stairs just can't carry on.

James, or Jim to his nearest and dearest, dips a toast soldier into his medium boiled egg. The breakfast table occasionally feels like a battle field as dense as the Crimea. And today all he hopes is that he gets to the end of both the egg and his paper in peace. Adelaide sighs again.

'Jim, dear, do you think you might be persuaded, just possibly, to speak with Barker?'

'Oh yes dear? The boot boy? Of course'

He ducks promptly back behind the paper and pulls several faces at his both beloved and annoying sister. Behind the paper is generally safe for such antics. And thus it has always been. Ever since they were children, Adelaide always just a little older both then and now. Always the older, and more sensible one. Even up to and past the death of their parents and their own comfortable progress into middle age.

Adelaide sighs again, and resorts to underhand tactics, so beloved of older siblings, the full name,

'James'

'And what has Barker done to deserve your opprobrium this time?'

'He's upset Cook'

'Cook'

Yes. Cook'

'That explains the problem with the kippers today then I suppose?'

'The kippers? There aren't any kippers?'

'Yes my dear. That's the problem'

Adelaide sniffs,

'He was very rude'

'Oh yes?' Jim enquires mildly, 'how rude?'

Adelaide leans across the breakfast table and pulls the paper down so she can frown directly at her brother,

'Very'

Jim sighs, best to get it out for the way then, no kippers is a rum deal.

'Alright. Straight after breakfast. Anything else my love?'

Adelaide still holds on to the newspaper, Jim debates whether she actually wants the paper or if there is something else exercising her. 

'Tell Mr Zeller we'd be pleased if he came for supper on Sunday. He was looking peaky last time we saw him.'

'Mr Zeller is fine Adelaide. He is merely. Well, I suppose we might say pining'

'I realise that Jim, and it's not good for him. Tell him to come for supper. And ask that Matthews boy to come along as well. Sophie says she may be able to make it after all'

Jim smiles his acquiescence. In this as in so many things it is better to save his ammunition for a battle he might have a hope of winning. And for this battle his chances are about as good as a woman becoming a doctor. In England at least. What they do in Scotland is up to them. Not that a woman can't be a doctor in principle. It is just, somewhat, unlikely. Jim Price follows this train of thought for a while and decides he should have thought of a better metaphor for hopelessness than whether women might ever both read for and receive a medical degree.

................

Somewhere on the other side of London another family is also having a somewhat stilted breakfast though James Price would envy them both their kippers and their kedgeree.

'My dear, please remind Alice that she must collect the children at 3pm today'

'Yes dear'

'Please remind Margaret that the flowers for the Ambassador's party must be collected tomorrow. Tell her to send Simmonds'

'Yes dear'

'Tell Cook, she will have five extra helpers for Friday. I've made arrangements with the agency she prefers'

'Yes dear'

'Make sure Fellers tells that underfootman that if he drinks the left-overs this party he shall be getting his papers forthwith'

'Yes dear'

Lady Phyllis breathes a silent sigh of relief, this seems to be the last of all her husband's instructions for the day. Oh to have a breakfast that doesn't consist of her trying to remember all of her husband's detailed requests. And the indigestion it causes when she invariably forgets at least one thing. Really, she reflects, Budge should just eat breakfast with them, all these little things? Isn't that what a secretary is for? 

'And don't forget to wear the nice coral dress with the lace fichu'

'Of course dear'

This times for sure he's finished. She can now hope to finish her own breakfast in a modicum of peace. She risks a quick glance, yes it seems safe now. She relaxes. Just a little.

Upstairs in the same house the rather nervous secretary to Lord Westport, one Tobias Budge, sorts correspondence into three piles; invitations and engagements, personal letters and missives, and professional and academic enquiries. Today's bag includes an invitation to contribute to the funding of the excavations at Thebes, a request for a response to the proposals for a new Commission on Ancient Monuments, and an invitation to a Mummy Unwrapping Party at Lord Finchley's London home.

Mr Budge snorts when he sees it, really he could draft a response to every piece of post without Lord Westport setting a foot in his office. But that's not how it's done. So, he shall have to wait and go through the farce of listening and taking down shorthand and then transcribing a suitable reply. Ready to be signed before it is then sealed and sent. Lord Westport is as predictable as Sunrise and Sunset, but there are certain ways of doing things to be observed. Mr Budge mentally thinks of the opportunities the party might afford. He's included, of course, Mr Stammetts can be relied on to keep to The Code.

...............

At Lord Finchley's London home, which despite his name is not in Finchley, the Mummy Case and eternal resting place of Prince Amenhateshaphotep is carefully laid on a covered trestle in one of the large reception rooms. Lord Finchley is mighty glad to have this opportunity. It's a particularly fine specimen and he's promised it to the British Museum once their little soirée has taken place in a few days time.

As he stands beside the plain outer casement he runs a hand along it, there are six such cases before they get to the Mummy itself. Six. Marvellous. Lord Finchley and his wife are both huge Egyptology fans. And these parties are only just beginning to take off in a big way. So it's very exciting.

Standing there looking at the casket he wonders briefly about the life of the Prince all those thousands of years ago. How extraordinary that the Prince should now find himself in the home of a Peer of the British Empire all these years later. Lord Finchley picks a carnation out of a vase of flowers on one of the mantelpieces and places it on the casket. Smiles to himself. A touch of whimsy there, he thinks. Perhaps the Prince would like it.

As he leaves the room he carefully shuts and then locks the doors behind him. Wouldn't do for any of the servants to get funny ideas. Silly things. The Curse of the Mummy and all that. Superstitious nonsense. Still. Better safe than sorry. He pockets the key and pats it, safely lodged inside the decent bit of Harris Tweed bequeathed to him by his grandfather and still going strong.

Inside the reception room the red carnation trembles for a moment, slides to the side of the casket and then tumbles to the floor. 

.....................


	2. Chapter 2

'Please Mr Zeller, you will be doing me the most enormous favour. God man, Adelaide insists'

'Couldn't you tell her I have an appointment Dr P?'

'Come now, you might even enjoy it. A nice supper, thee, me. Adelaide, possibly the good Sgt Matthews and maybe Sophie too'

Zeller brightens slightly, Matthews is alright and Sophie Price is something else again. She's some kind of indigent 3rd cousin of his boss, younger, sassier and alarmingly well read. He finds her mildly terrifying and highly entertaining.

'Sophie you say?'

'Yes Mr Zeller. Can I count on you, she's more likely to come if you do'

Zeller smiles and shrugs,

'Thanks Dr Price. I know I'm being a bit of a misery guts at the moment'

'Not at all Brian. I do understand'

He lays a brief hand on his assistant's shoulder. Gives it a gentle pat.

And Zeller knows the gesture is both sincere and genuine. He knows about the great 'lost love' of Dr Price's life. Whoever they were they feature during the evenings after there is a particularly nasty case sent their way by Scotland Yard. When copious brandy, or gin, or beer is drunk and everyone gets quietly, slowly, utterly bladdered.

Usually it's just Dr Price, Mr Zeller, a policeman or two, often Sgt Matthews, and on one memorable occasion the great man himself, Jack Crawford come to drown his sorrows after a hell of a case almost a year ago. Terrible thing. A woman, offing children, for the insurance. The Company only caught on after more than a dozen deaths. She'd have carried on if Dr Price hadn't asked a few pertinent questions.

.................

1886 so far is a mediocre year for Scotland Yard. Only one big case has come to the Old Bailey. And even that was so inconclusive the jury had had to return a verdict of not guilty. Jim Price was called in to give a third opinion on the victim! Unusual in and of itself. But murder by chloroform? Pretty well unheard of, and it turned out, also nigh on impossible to prove. Even for Dr Price.

And as for other cases? There's almost nothing else to exercise them. Jack Crawford ever mindful of where the pennies are going has even suggested they might cut back their hours. Dr Price and Mr Zeller are horrified at the thought, it being a crucial part of Mr Zeller's income, and a significant though not as essential part of Dr Price's. Still you can't hope for a horrendous death to come along. That would just be rude.

.................

Brian Zeller pulls up the collar of his coat. It's chilly. With any luck it won't be as bad a winter as last year, God it had been cold. Something like the worst for thirty years. Hundreds dead from hypothermia, lots of cases of frostbite and with unemployment on the docks high there had been rioting and upset across the city. It's only autumn but there's already a hint of snow in the air today. Zeller regrets he has forgotten his muffler this morning. As he walks along Smithfield he notices the paper boys are shouting about another Mummy going missing.

When the craze for Unwrapping Parties began London's Egypt mania was at its highest. There's always something, spiritualism and Ouija boards, universal suffrage, tax hikes, unionisation, supporting the boys on the frontline in whatever far flung country. And now Egyptian mummies. Scarcely a week goes by when his boss isn't invited to some kind of Unrolling or Unwrapping. If the hosts are well off it's usually a human, if rather less so it might be a bird or animal.

The thefts though are something else again. All the Mummies have been stolen after the unwrapping, so it isn't for any inclusions like little jewelled scarabs or golden ankhs. They're there one minute and by the day after the party they've gone. Completely, cases, bandaging, masks, body and all.

To be sure there is still a black market in complete bodies. Some of the hospitals and universities will pay good money both for articulated and near complete skeletons and even more for a fleshed body. Though, they're a bit careful since the scandal with Burke and Hare. Fresh bodies causing a bit of a stink, so to speak. But none of the mummies have surfaced. It's a mystery.

Of course Zeller and Dr Price have discussed whether they've been hiked off to the other trade. The one where the bodies are dried out even further and then ground up for cosmetics and the artist's paint trade. Mummy Brown is very popular as a colour amongst the artists who've been a part of that rakish Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood set, as well as those who wish they had been. In some ways this secondary market is where the real money is to be made.

At the next seller Brian Zeller buys a paper, it'll give him something else to think about. Really anything else to think about. Rather than think about her. He sighs again, and pulls his coat tighter round him. She knitted the muffler. It's possible that that's why he forgot it this morning. Possible? Pretty damn likely. He sighs at the thought. Oh Cassie. Why? And an engagement too, with the date set and all. 

He ducks his head into his collar and trudges along. Maybe this tea at Dr Price's house will cheer him up a bit. At least it gives him a little something to look forwards to. And Miss Price is invariably kind without laying it on too thick. And Sophie will tell him he's had a lucky escape if she's as stupid as to have thrown him over. He smiles at the thought. He might be as miserable as sin about it but he's lucky in other ways. He hands over a coin to the beggar who sits on the steps at the entrance to the hospital.

'Thank-ee guv'nor God bless you n'all'

Yes he thinks again. I'm not so badly off really.

...................

At the Yard Sgt Matthews sets out the chairs for the monthly consultants meeting. Really one of the constables should be doing it but he's found he usually gets to stay if he doesn't make a big deal of it and sits in the corner unobtrusively. He's even begun taking notes and then handing them over to Mr Crawford at the end. The big man's face had twitched in a small smile the first time he'd done it and so he keeps it up. He sits in his preferred corner and hums a little to himself, he grins when he realises it's "Queen of my Heart" from that new musical, everyone's singing it right now.

When almost everyone has arrived Dr Frederick Chilton the other consulting doctor to the Yard pauses in the doorway to make something of an entrance. He ignores the little snort from Mr Zeller, almost certainly in response to something Dr Price has muttered. They may be colleagues of a sort, but they are not friends. Dr Chilton shudders at the thought.

Today the meeting mainly consists of people Dr Chilton knows, one or two police inspectors, a few other medical colleagues and perhaps surprisingly the newly appointed chair of Trustees at the British Museum. Chilton has met him once or twice at evening soirées or lectures. Oh, probably about the Mummies.

Also surprising is the presence of Dr Hannibal Lecter, of course Chilton knows he's on the list but why is he here now? He's a man of impenetrable antecedents and has an enormously lucrative practice in Harley Street. He's also somewhat in demand amongst the social elite. He and Dr Lecter have locked horns once or twice over matters of mental hygiene. But for the most part they have exceedingly limited interactions. One might almost wonder if Dr Lecter was avoiding him. Perhaps he is a little intimidated? Chilton nods in the doctor's direction, and Lecter inclines his head. Yes. That seems the most likely explanation.

Dr Chilton settles into his seat, smiles at the assembled group and Jack Crawford gets the meeting going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mummy Brown paint? A real thing, up until the 1970s when the last supplier ran out of Mummies. True story.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack Crawford spends the first ten minutes reminding everyone that the consultants meeting is confidential and no one is to repeat anything and so on and so forth. He begins by starting with the recent murder by chloroform that failed to convince the jury at the Old Bailey.

'Dr Price, could you tell us nothing more?'

'It's a hell of a thing. I'm sure you all know what Sir James Paget had to say about the Pimlico Mystery'

There's a murmur of general assent and James Price continues, though Sgt Matthews doesn't know and wishes he did too, he'll have to ask Mr Zeller later,

'Well we shall just have to hope it doesn't give any one else ideas.'

There's further assent to that too. Mr Crawford carries on,

'I'd like to introduce you all to Lord Cotton. He's recently been elected by the other Trustees of the British Museum, some of you may have met him before. Dr Lecter I imagine?'

Hannibal inclines his head, in certain quarters his knowledge of hieroglyphs, hieratic and demotic is gratefully utilised when new and more obscure bits of papyri turn up. Fredrick Chilton looks at his colleague, why might Hannibal Lecter know the Trustees? Lord Cotton smiles at the assembled group,

'Thank you Mr Crawford. I'm sure you know about the Mummies that have gone missing across the city. It's most vexing. We have ourselves lost six, in transit. Somewhere between the East India Dock and the premises in Great Russell Street. We believe there are now ten that have gone missing. It's a problem, I shall be frank with you,'

Lord Cotton goes on to speak of the loss of confidence, of issues to do with funding, as well as the reputations of the various trustees. At least half of whom are Government, Royal or family appointees. It's a scandal in the making! 

'I hope you understand that we value all of our collections but the Mummies are very special to us'

Dr Price can't resist a little quip,

'I think everyone thinks their mummy is very special'

There is good natured laughter round the group. Dr Lecter smiles at Dr Price who smirks back.

Jack Crawford smiles too and then moves the agenda onto the next few items, increasing agitation in the docks, attacks on the wave of immigrants coming in from Eastern Europe fleeing the pogroms there, and a new pick pocketing gang operating out of the area round the Houses of Parliament. 

The meeting closes with a verse of the national anthem, for which, of course, everyone stands and does their bit. Afterwards Dr Price finds Sgt Matthews,

'It's good to see you here. Very enterprising. I'm wondering if I could persuade you to come to supper on Sunday? Mr Zeller is coming and it'd be nice to have another young man along?'

Sgt Matthews blushes, no-one normally notices him at all, and for all he is genuinely quite self sufficient the weekends can stretch out awfully long. And Sunday tea time is generally the worst.

'Thank you Sir, that's very kind'

'Not at all, we could all do with a little cheer'

Sgt Matthews smiles. He's good at his job and he enjoys it but it's not really the best for seeing the good in people. And a chance to spend time with the doc and his assistant is very welcome. They're both clever and witty. Sgt Matthews could do with a little more of both in his life.

..............

That same evening the same two men carry yet another case into the shadowy crypt. In all there are now 12 boxes waiting, for something. The two men grunt and swear. This box is just a little heavier. And when they finally ship them all out they'll be even heavier. They'll need a couple of extra men.  
..................

In Lord Finchley's home the party gets underway with an excellent range of finger foods. He'd had to keep a straight face when Stammetts had told him about cook's plans for the buffet. His secretary has no sense of humour at all!

There's much laughter and the swish of fine fabrics as the ladies filter through into every part of the ground floor of the house. Lord Finchley surveys the colour and listens to all the chatter, the high voices pitched against the low ones, and reflects that it's going very well.

The Unwrapping isn't due to begin until 8:30 pm and by then the buffet will have been demolished and everyone who wants to be seen will have made sure they have been seen by those by whom they wish to be seen. 

Ahh, and there's Westport's daughter and her husband, terrible fellow, but she's his niece and all that, Finchley had seen his fellow Lord's secretary earlier conversing with his own over what appeared to be a glass of ginger ale. The Lord shudders, perfectly ghastly but seemingly popular.

Mr Budge speaks in low tones with Mr Stammetts. There is a club for the secretaries of nobles and gentlemen of which both Mr Budge and Mr Stammetts are members. The two of them have a kind of common cause. There are at least three other secretaries here this evening. And very unusually one of them is a woman, Miss Katz, who works for Lord Avon.

Lord Avon is an elderly soul but he maintains a bright interest in the advancement of women, keen on suffrage and higher education and all that. And so he puts his money where his mouth is and actually employs one. Extraordinary. She, of course, is not admitted to the Clerks Club but seems strangely indifferent to her exclusion. The secretaries who are members are affronted by her lack of concern. The power to exclude only sweet to wield if those who are subject to it profess outrage. Mr Budge has had occasion to wonder if Miss Katz has realised this.

.................

Lord Westport and his wife Phyllis sit quietly in the carriage taking them to the latest in a whole series of events designed to welcome the Egyptian Ambassador and capitalise on the latest craze. Their own party went off very well just the previous evening. The Ambassador recently narrowly survived an assassination attempt in Cairo and his historic Egyptian royal connections have ensured him a welcome in London. That he was educated at Harrow doesn't hurt either. His government has sent him to London to keep him safe and also to avoid the embarrassment of having a pharaonic descendant murdered in his home city.

The party was very successful, and really Lord Westport would prefer to have this evening at home, but it's his brother in law so they must attend. It's only good manners, even if Finchley is something of a fool.

...................

By a little after 10:30pm Prince Amenhateshaphotep has been unwrapped, his accoutrements ooohed and ahhhhed over and his desiccated form admired. The Egyptian Ambassador, also in attendance, has gracefully received a jewelled scarab reflecting as he smiled that he'll soon have quite a collection as every event he goes to he gets given one!

The party has gone off very well indeed and though there's more laughing and drinking the main event has clearly passed and gradually the crowd thins. When the final carriage has departed Lord Finchley calls Mr Stammetts to him that together they might supervise the re-boxing and tidying up of the remains. 

At the double doors Mr Stammetts opens them and stands aside respectfully. So it's Lord Finchley who enters and discovers the trestles are empty.

Although the scarabs and ankhs and two canopic jars remain Prince Amenhateshaphotep and his cases and his mask have all gone.

'Well dash it all to hell. When on earth did that happen? Oh bugger. I've promised him to the British Museum as well. Stammetts, send a boy to fetch a constable. If we get onto it tonight maybe they'll get him back'

Stammetts leaves the room and a few minutes later Lord Finchley hears the front door open and then close. He'll have to see to the servants. Damn and blast.

In the kitchen he finds his own staff still clearing dishes and washing up. He interrupts the finishing off of the buffet, 

'Alright, alright, don't look so worried. It's alright. I'm not here to have a moan. You did a splendid job tonight. And it's no-one's fault. But we're going to have the police in. You'll know about the thefts of the Mummies?'

The anxious looking staff nod silently at him, Cook looks like she might have a fit, she's a teeny bit temperamental, Finchley keeps an eye on her,

'Some rascal has nipped off with ours too. I've sent for someone to fetch a peeler. I'm sorry it'll interfere in the clear up, Cook, get one of the girls to make tea or something, I expect all the police will want one. I want a brandy'

He turns on his heel and is gone but he still hears one of the boot boys say,

'Oooer, is that the Curse of the Mummy then? Is his Lordshio going to get done?'

Oh for goodness sake thinks Lord Finchley. Superstitious nonsense and all.


	4. Chapter 4

Three hours later Lord Finchley wonders if there might be something to this whole Curse business after all. The Crawford chap seems competent as far as these things go, but my goodness what a hoo-hah it's only a Mummy!

'Yes my Lord, I'm sorry, it's just that it's part of this series and we'd like to get to the bottom of it before it escalates.'

'It is just the bodies and cases so far isn't it?'

'Yes, my Lord. It seems to follow no other pattern what so ever. Nor have any of the bodies resurfaced later. It's hard to know what the pay-off is. Where was your Mummy destined after here?'

'Oh the BM, I gather they're trying for a collection, that Flinders Petrie chap, new stuff from Thebes, well not new, obviously, you know?'

'Yes sir. I understand. Well, do let us know if he comes home will you? And we'll do likewise'

'Of course. It's dashed inconvenient Crawford. Though, I must say it's better after the party than before, what?'

'Indeed so my Lord. Almost a considerate criminal, with an eye on the social calendar one might say'

Lord Finchley snorts.

......................

'Did you see Dr Price? Another Mummy stolen last night ? From Lord Finchley?'

'I saw. Yes, that's what? Thirteen? Twelve? Thank you Adelaide. A lot anyway. It's all very odd,'

Adelaide Price pours another round of tea. The plate of sandwiches has been satisfyingly demolished and the three young people seem to be enjoying themselves. Well, not exactly young. But younger. For sure.

'Sgt Matthews, how is Mr Crawford, did he give evidence at the Old Bailey?'

'He did ma'am, I expect you heard what Sir James said?'

Adelaide has heard all about it, in great details from her brother, but she is a kind woman,

'No, not at all? What did he say?'

'Oh. Well it was quite amusing "we can't prove she did it, so of course she'll get away with it, I don't mind that, as long as she tells us afterwards how she did it"'

The group laugh gently and Sgt Matthews finds his eye caught by Sophie Price and he flushes slightly. She's really something though he wonders faintly is she's caught Mr Zeller's eye too, so to speak.

Jim Price stirs his tea thoughtfully,

'Just coming back to the Mummies a moment, you know, I've got an invite to Lord Avon's Mummy Party. I could probably swing an invite for the three of you as well, if you'd like? He very keen on education for adults and all'

Sophie Price perks up,

'Really? Me too? If you could? I'd like that very much. But won't he blanch at it, I mean..?'

'Lord Avon has a female secretary he won't mind you coming along. I'll speak to Miss Katz and see if I can arrange it. It's next Friday. And I imagine Mr Crawford might even see it as a smart bit of initiative Barney if you come along too?'

Sgt Matthews grins,

'He might Sir, if it came from you. Spot of undercover work? Good practice for me. And I'd be very glad to see an Unwrapping too. Is it the same company Sir that supplies all the Mummies across the City?'

Dr Price smiles back,

'Great minds think alike, I'd wondered that too, I had an ask around, they're just cargo apparently, apart from the really amazing ones, proper royal family and all, otherwise they're auctioned off at the docks, one or two suppliers and brokers regularly take consignments. It's a busy trade. In one tomb there were more than two million Ibis Mummies!'

Adelaide laughs,

'Two million! How extraordinary'

Sophie interjects,

'It think it's extraordinary that some poor peon had to count them!'

All five of them laugh.

.....................

Sgt Matthews and Mr Zeller stroll along the road and then into the nearby park, a shortcut for both of them. Although the evening is beginning to draw in the lamps haven't been lit yet. Not for another hour maybe.

'I like Dr Price, he does seem very fair, as a boss'

'He is, he's decent. Wants me to go to evening class, get some more qualifications. Tries to make sure I do interesting things in the lab not just the iodine stains'

He holds up his right hand, his forefinger bearing a tell tale yellow brown stain,

'And he doesn't make me do all the paperwork either. He's very funny too. I like him. He lets me in on the joke, and in on the job. Crawford seems alright though? Is he?'

'He is. He's quite stern sometimes, likes to run a tight ship. But he's very fair. It was hard when Mrs Crawford passed'

Both men spend a moment or two quietly repenting the loss of a kind and friendly woman, quite her husband's match in intelligence and perspicacity. Sgt Matthews hums to himself and then decides to risk it,

'I'm very sorry about Miss Boyle, Mr Zeller'

'Thanks, that's kind. Most people are just avoiding the topic. Too embarrassed to say anything. She did send the ring back at least. Though I have no idea what I should do with it',

'Would the jeweller take it back?'

'I'm sure he would. He even made a bit of a tease of it. Said he paid full price on any ring that didn't satisfy. I don't think he really meant a broken engagement, but, well, there we are. It's only the embarrassment really... that's stopping me. He was a nice man'

'Mr Zeller, I don't want to presume. I know we're only colleagues, and you hardly know me. But. Well. I could take it back for you? To the jewellers, if you gave me a note with it, maybe the bill of sale.'

Brian looks at the younger policeman. This is a very generous overture of friendship. And really he could do with the money back. Even if he won't have the expenses a wedding always brings.

'Sgt Matthews, Barney, that's uncommonly kind of you. Would you? I mean, really? That would save me a lot of awkwardness?'

'Of course Mr Zeller, I understand how it might be'

'I think you should call me Brian now, I think we're on first name terms if you're going to take my ring'

He smirks at his little joke, Sgt Matthews laughs too.

'Alright Brian, it's a deal'

.................

Lord Westport looks at his secretary. Mr Budge has been preoccupied for some time now. Every time he has an afternoon off he's with his cronies from the Clerks Club. Their little confederacy. Lord Westport smiles to himself, they think they've been so clever. He wrinkles his nose a little, well he shall have some fun with Budge and his little friends too. He carries on,

'Perhaps we too will have a Mummy party? What do you think Budge? Has the fad had its day?

Budge pauses just a fraction longer than he might usually which just adds to Lord Westport's amusement.

'I think my Lord it has a way to go yet. If anything the thefts have re-ignited interest, albeit now of a more sensationalist nature.'

'Alright then, check with Lady Phyllis, if she's in agreement we might manage a little gathering. What's the calendar looking like over the next two weeks?'

'Lord Avon is holding a Mummy Party this Friday'

Budge sniffs and Lord Westport smiles more widely. Budge doesn't approve of Lord Avon one little bit. Nor his secretary Miss Katz. Oh no, Not at all! This is even better.


	5. Chapter 5

'Mr Budge, please let Miss Katz know Lady Phyllis and I will attend. And I think we'll host a tea, the following Wednesday. Perhaps twenty guests, draft me a list before you send the invitations'

'Of course my Lord. Is that all Sir?'

'Yes Budge. I believe so, thank you.'

Mr Budge stands and essays a small bow before leaving the drawing room and retreating to the office on the first floor. Twenty people for tea; Lord Finchley obviously and his wife, and Lord Avon. The list comes together easily and after lunch it's approved and he's drafting invitations. Perhaps this might mean a lull afterwards? It might even be an appropriate stopping point. He makes a mental note to discuss it with Mr Stammetts and the others.

...................

'Well Beverly, this all looks very pleasing. Price has asked to bring his assistant and a cousin and a Sargeant from Scotland Yard. What do you think? I'd like to oblige him if we can? Three extras hmm?'

'It will be fine my Lord, Lord Falcon has intimated his wife and daughter are away. In the country, so really it shall be only one extra.'

'Alright then. Good girl, please let Price know. Actually if you liked I've nothing further, you could go round and let him know in person. It's a little chilly outdoors? Bracing perhaps? For a walk?'

Miss Katz smiles, she's very fond of her employer. He has particular ideas about women's emancipation, health and hygiene, germs, war and violence in general, and other unfashionable views. He's also a kind and interesting employer.

'Thank you my Lord, I shall take some cash if I may, for a cab, in case it rains. But I'd enjoy the walk very much'

'Good girl. Perhaps this evening we might try and make some progress on those Home Rule papers?'

'Of course my Lord, before or after dinner?'

....................

Later that same evening Mr Budge, Mr Stammetts, Mr Buddish and Mr Silvestri sit in the Clerks' Club each with a glass of beer at hand along with a plate of sandwiches between them. It's not Boodles or Brooks or even the Athenaeum, but it suits. Mr Budge begins,

'I think, with Lord Westport's party we may consider we have enough to be going along?'

Mr Stammetts and Mr Silvestir quickly agree, Mr Buddish checks,

'I know Lord Avon is hosting a party next Friday. I'm assuming we're taking no action there. Miss Katz and everything?'

'I think you're right Elliott it's too risky. She may be a woman but she's surprisingly perceptive. Even if Lord Avon is about as peculiar as they come'

'Reckless, I'd say'

The four men nod their heads in agreement, Lord Avon is not universally liked, except by precisely those people who make everyone else nervous. Especially gentlemen's secretaries.

'So, Lord Westport's. We shall be at fourteen then, including the one from Lord Ashmole's place and the six destined straight for the British Museum'

'Fourteen is plenty. We're ready for phase two, yes? Will one of you speak with Wells and Boyle?'

There are nods all round. Phase two. After Lord Westport's.

...................

'So Matthew, anything new on the Mummies?'

'No Mr Crawford, sir, not a thing. Though I have been asked to attend Lord Avon's Mummy party. Would that be alright. It's on Friday evening. Dr Price is going, he got me the invitation'

'Did he? That's decent of him, Zeller going?'

Sgt Matthews nods,

'Alright then. Don't forget to sign the overtime book and keep your eyes open' 

'Yes sir. I will. Thank you sir'

When Sgt Matthews has gone Jack Crawford smiles to himself. Good lad that. Enterprising. Shame he doesn't really fit with the other desk sargeants. Still, he's doing a good job. Lord Avon? Well, there's a thing, Miss Katz is something else! He shakes his head. She'd make mincemeat of most of his junior officers. Him too, probably. He goes back to his budgeting.

................

Friday comes around with the inevitability of death and taxes and across the city a number of attendees of Lord Avon's party are readying themselves. Sophie Price is debating between warmth and a flattering colour of shawl. She's a little annoyed with herself, normally she'd be quite above such matters but that sargeant is very sweet and blushes so nicely. She smirks and opts for both, the warmer one over the other to be left where ever coats and cloaks go in Lord Avon's house.

James Price is deciding between two cravats, he goes downstairs from his dressing room and offers both to his sister wordlessly who laughs and picks one. He retires upstairs, not quite in agreement though Adelaide is often right. About clothes, he thinks to himself, not everything. Well, not quite everything.

Miss Katz meanwhile is carefully dusting the inside of one of the already set aside Mummy cases with some almost invisible powder. If anyone moves it who shouldn't the powder will brush off and react with the skin and show up. It's very hard to wash off. She glances at her own little finger. Still stained a reddish brown. It's not foolproof of course, but better than nothing.

Mr Zeller closes the door to his rooms. He adjusts his muffler. A new one. The old one knitted by Miss Boyle is now gracing the neck of the homeless beggar who is usually seated at the bottom of the steps outside the main entrance of St Bart's Hospital. He is one of the walking wounded from the battles in the Crimea, almost thirty years ago now. Poor soul. 

Zeller had been pleased to see that it actually suited the old man rather better than it ever had him. Some good after all.

.................

'It's going well Beverly isn't it?'

Lord Avon's round elderly face is flushed with pleasure and maybe slightly too much champagne,

'It is my Lord. Lord Cotton says he's a very fine specimen, they're very grateful he'll be donated'

'As long as no blaggard bags him eh?'

Miss Katz smiles,

'I know Beverly, who would dare under your watchful eyes! And well done on the arrangements, I'm very pleased. And all these youngsters too! Thank Dr Price will you?'

She nods, actually with the exception of Lord Falcon's daughter who is away and sent a very charming note, all the youngsters in attendance asked to come. She'd made allowance in the invitation list. The parents get asked and it's the offspring who want to attend. Lord Avon is not so popular amongst the parents. But for the adult children? He is a naughty radical as far as all the younger Viscounts and Marchionesses are concerned, and therefore very popular. Beverly goes in search of Dr Price, she finds him talking with a younger man, tall, nice looking, bit tired perhaps, or sad,

'Miss Katz, hello? Splendid. May I introduce Mr Zeller? He's my assistant, at St Bart's and the Yard. Brian, this is Miss Katz, Lord Avon's secretary.'

The two younger people smile and shake hands. Jim Price glances quickly between them, wonders if he is channeling Adelaide and has a bright idea, oh yes,

'Miss Katz, my sister is having a cake testing tea, would you like to attend, Mr Zeller, and a number of other friends will be there. It'll be very informal. Wednesday'

Beverly smiles at him, she quite likes the doctor, and has exchanged some polite words with his sister, and this is a friendly overture, 

'That's very kind, it's my half day. I'd like that.'

Dr Price kicks Brian's shoe, reasonably subtly, and Brian blinks for a second before he catches on, God, his boss, playing matchmaker?

'Excellent Miss Katz, that's a very good idea. Miss Price makes a very good tea. And we can always rely on Dr Price to do something surprising'

Beverly Katz smiles again,

'I'll look forward to that very much. And now I should go and deal with something less surprising, before Dr Price decides to kick me too'

She leaves the two men and Brian turns a wryful look on his boss,

'Really?'

'She is very smart! And funny. It'll be a good tea'

Brian rolls his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning Mr Zeller walks along Whitehall, not quite whistling but something pretty close. He'd been annoyed with his boss the evening before but by the end of the party he'd realised he'd had at least an hour without remembering for even a moment the perfidy of his now ex fiancé Cassandra Boyle. 

And Dr Price had been right, Miss Katz is witty and bright and just the right kind of feisty. Indeed he'd seen Sophie Price and Miss Katz square up to one another in what might the opening round of an ongoing skirmish. Dr Price had clearly been delighted.

'What do you think Brian? I think we might have a jolly good afternoon wouldn't you say?'

'I would. Thank you Dr Price. I do think she knew what you were about though'

'I know! Good isn't it?'

He'd smirked quite a bit, no doubt encouraged by the liberal amounts of champagne being doled out. Certainly Miss Katz could organise, and Lord Avon host, an excellent party. And the Mummy itself was exceptionally fine. Miss Katz was rather pleased that Lord Avon had gifted her both an ankh and a scarab. 

The Egyptian Ambassador had seemed delighted with the champagne cocktails and wearily grateful for the scarab he'd been given. This makes sixteen such gifts in his first month in the role. Even the Queen had gifted him one when he'd gone for tea at the palace. He'd been up at University with one of her sons and really it had been an interesting afternoon and he'd even managed to feign convincing delight at the present. Though the phrase 'coals to Newcastle' did rather occur to him, and truthfully he'd rather have a coat or a warm muffler, it being perishing cold.

The same morning whilst Mr Zeller is debating his good fortune Lord Avon is rather surprised to discover that his Mummy is, after all, still in the front withdrawing room. He has a quick review of himself and discovers he's rather dismayed. Dash it all, isn't his Mummy good enough for the blighters? What's wrong with him? When Miss Katz joins him beside the casket and she checks to see if her powders have been disturbed she is as surprised as he is. Why not this one? How very odd.

...................

The news spreads over the weekend that Lord Avon's Mummy has not been stolen, even meriting a short paragraph in the Times as well as a longer article in The Tattle Crime. Freddy Bastard Lounds as he's frequently referred to by those about whom he writes manages to make Lord Avon sound like exactly the kind of nobility with whom proper ladies and gentlemen won't have anything to do.

Of course for many readers such a description lends Lord Avon a scandalous air, and there is subsequent coverage in other periodicals that he's never been able to garner for all his worthy endeavours and concerns. It is most vexing. Though he does make sure Miss Katz snips out all the clippings. And pastes them in a scrap book. Which if he reads several times a day over the next few weeks is nobody's business but his.

When James Price sees The Tattle Crime article he snorts somewhat, Avon is a decent fellow, worthy and noble. He wonders what the household make of the non theft. How fortuitous to have invited Miss Katz this very week. He grins to himself. So much so that Mr Zeller upon seeing his face and smug expression takes note to stay out of kicking distance for the foreseeable future.

..................

Come Wednesday afternoon Mr Budge and his colleagues are ready for Lord Westport's afternoon tea. The Mummy has been carefully laid out, the outer cases stored aside, and a curator from the British Museum has been invited to give a brief history and description of mummification practices in both the Upper and Lower Kingdoms. 

This addition of a little lecture is enough to give the afternoon an atmosphere of some intellectual weight rather than a merely frivolous unrolling of many many yards of bandaging. Not everyone is delighted to hear that beautiful bandaging usually means poor mummification practice, and vice versa. Especially as in this instance the bandaging is exceptional in the patterns that have been created using thin, thin strips of linen.

Lord Westport is rather delighted to see that his own hovering near the casket throughout the party and for a good ninety minutes afterwards leads to his secretary being initially tetchy and subsequently down right twitchy. Eventually though the Lord departs for his own rooms smiling to himself that were he to descend the stairs sometime about 3:30 am he would almost certainly catch his secretary red handed. Knowing this is so means that he does as usual sleep solidly and dreamlessly.

................

The same afternoon sees the gathering at Dr Price's home become both entertaining and retrospectively an event of great significance in the lives of a number of those attending. For a start three of the cakes prove to be exceptionally popular which is of course most gratifying to Adelaide Price. Sophie Price manages to ensnare Sgt Matthews almost effortlessly, a courtship that may take many months to come to fruition but one which looking back they can all determine begins here. And others too make connections and friendships that will see them through some difficult times they don't yet know are to come.

Alongside these as yet unknowable developments Adelaide and James Price had been amazed to come down to breakfast that very morning to discover that their brother Timothy, James's twin had arrived in the night and was even now eating the household out of kippers. And eggs. 

Whilst James Price had gone into doctoring, Timothy Price had gone into soldiering. In a big way. He's been tied up in all that business out in Central Asia. Silk Road derring do and disguises and the like. Tibetan llamas, Buddhist Stupas, sutras and swamis, and a lot of high altitude long walks. Whilst his siblings are delighted to see him they also know he is prodigiously untidy and enormous of appetite. Jim Price fears for his breakfast, Adelaide Price for her antimaccasars.

Nevertheless it has to be said that three Price siblings, a cousin, Miss Katz, Mr Zeller, Sgt Matthews, and a friend of Adelaide Price named Mrs Bloom makes for an exceptional tea. And with the newest missing Mummy not being missing, there is much to exercise the formidable combination of brains, imagination and sass throughout the afternoon and well into the evening.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? I have no discipline at all!

Sophie Price laughs, when she laughs she goes a very delicate shade of pink. Like the inside of a shell. Sgt Matthews sighs to himself. There is no reason on earth she would find him interesting in any way. She is smart where he is plain, she is erudite where he is nervous, she is funny whereas he might best be described as gently humorous. Still, this is a very nice tea, and he gets to spend another few hours in her company.

'So, Lord Avon's Mummy wasn't stolen which honestly seems remarkable in itself, but Lord Finchley's, Lord Falcon's, Lord Ashmole's, six from the British Museum, Lady Redding's, the Duke of Lichfield's, Lord Edgemont's and Lady Catchpole's all were. It makes no sense does it? I mean, do they have anything in common?'

'They're all Mummies?'

'No you daftapeth, the hosts! Oh, sorry you were joshing?'

Timothy Price grins,

'Of course Soph, try living up to your name once in a while'

His third cousin twice removed, or something, rolls her eyes,

'Really though? Anything at all?'

'Same school'

'Really? How do you know?'

'No, sorry, it was a question?'

'Oh. School then? Same tomb? The Mummies I mean?'

'I don't think so'

They begin to pool ideas and Sgt Matthews has his own opportunity to go a little pink when Sophie notices he has his notebook and pencil in hand to jot down any notes that might be useful. She smiles at him most fulsomely 

'So, not same tomb. Same broker?'

'No idea, good question'

'Same delivery company?'

'Also good idea, Miss Katz?'

'We used Harker's, and Phillips and Sons was the broker'

'Same caterer at the parties?'

'We were in-house, I'm not sure about the others'

'Are any of the Mummies related?'

'Lord Finchley had Prince Amenhateshaphotep and we had his High Priest, the prince's not his Lordship, just so we're clear'

Miss Katz twitches a smile at Timothy Price,

'Alright then, we should try and find out if there are any more related Mummies in this little lot'

'Miss Katz, did you make all the arrangements for the party at Lord Avon's?'

'I did, though I'd imagine it's not unusual for a secretary to do so. I can ask around about the others, I do know them. Though Lady Redding doesn't have a secretary as such, and Lady Catchpole uses her husband's, though we never see his Lordship at society events. Too much political stuff going on.'

'Are they all parliamentarians? Obviously not their Ladyships?'

'Yes, different parties though. Though Lord Redding is still too young, he won't reach his majority until the end of November.'

'Young Redding? I used to ride to hounds with his father. What's happened to him?'

'Ahh, I'm sorry Major, his Lordship died last year, Boxing Day Hunt'

'That's a damn shame. Bad fall was it?'

Miss Katz smiles at him a little desperately,

'One might say that'

Everyone looks at her,

'He had rather too much port and had a little accident'

'A little accident?'

'He tripped and fell into one of the fountains, apparently the hounds swarmed him and with all that going on no one realised he'd actually failed to come up'

Timothy Price opens his mouth and then closes it again,

'Good god' he says faintly, then he rallies 'I suppose we might say he went to the dogs?'

His two siblings try not to laugh, and fail, the rest of the party smile a little and then laugh. Miss Katz grins,

'I know. It was awful though. Poor Lady Redding, and actually her son is a right tearaway. He's always off with one of the younger royals'

'Is he now? Naughty boy. I'll look him up, pay my respects and everything, anyway we've got distracted. Sargeant where had we got to?'

'We'd just noted they were of different political allegiances'

'Right. Jim, anything they might agree on coming up for a vote?'

'Home Rule Bill, but they're not aligned on that, some concerns about the Chartists, and about Ireland, apart from the Bill'

'Hmm'

'They didn't have the same nanny did they? Or maybe it's someone below stairs?'

'Did any of them work at more than one of the houses? Is it a grudge? You know how servants get sometimes?'

Beverly smiles to herself, she's not a servant, but she's not proper upstairs either,

'Across so many households? And the British Museum, we'd have to look at all the Trustees, there are how many?'

'Fifty six, I think'

'How do you know that Brian?'

'It's the same number as elements in the periodic table'

The party looks at Mr Zeller,

'I do read you know. It's not all iodine and kidneys'

'They've taken thirteen so far, do you think that means anything?'

'We don't even know if it's the last one do we?'

'We don't. And what I don't understand is why they would even bother? None of the bodies have surfaced again have they? And they didn't take any of the included twiddly bits? When was the first one?'

'A little over two months ago, Lord Falcon. Everyone thought it was his two boys to begin with. They're worse than Lord Redding.'

James Price frowns a little,

'Barney, if you give me the list I can try and find out the answers for some of these. Shall we meet again and pool further thinking?'

'Jimmy boy, do you think there's something going on?'

Jim looks at his twin,

'I just wonder. There's a motive in there somewhere. Dashed if I know what it is'

'Won't stop you having a little look will it?'

The two brothers grin at each other. Adelaide gives a long suffering sigh and turns back to the almost empty cake stand. Her brother gets there first

'Smashing Victoria Sponge old girl'

.................

The following morning brings the news that Lord Westport's Mummy has gone missing. Stolen away in the middle of the night. Lord Avon reads about it over his breakfast and succumbs to indigestion and dismay on behalf of his High Priest. Miss Katz frowns to herself. This is all very odd indeed.

.................

Over breakfast Lord Westport smiles to himself. A special secret sort of smile, that his wife decides, very carefully, to ignore. How can he possibly be pleased about their Mummy going missing? Unless of course he knows something she doesn't. This of course is completely likely, he usually thinks he does. Even if just occasionally this is because Lady Phyllis wants him to think he does. How tricksy of them both.

Throughout the day various police come and go to the house and by the end Mr Budge has to remind himself of the pay off to come rather than on the chaos that has briefly descended. If this is how it has been in the other houses then he has rather more appreciation of the stoicism of his brothers in arms from the Clerks Club. Though his Lordship seems to be sitting surprisingly light to the situation. Normally he is a man of serious disposition and sharp possessiveness. But not today. Of all days.

That evening the older brother of one of the household's boot boys, just out from a stretch in Pentonville Gaol, follows Mr Budge at a discreet distance. In his pocket is a whole guinea from his Lordship. Pauly Krendler is a well built thug, but he's possessed of street cunning and had his life been even a little different he'd either be in the army or in the metropolitan police. As it is he's Westport's go to man when something a little off the books is required. And Krendler reckons this is as far off the books as it gets. Still, Lord Westport is a generous man and so far the job's a good 'un.


	8. Chapter 8

Very, very late that night Pauly Krendler leans insouciantly against a rotting brick wall. The hissing splutter of yellow light from the gas lamp at the entrance to the alley makes him seem jaundiced and dissipated. He's smoking a clay pipe burning some disgusting tobacco cut with something vile. The cloud surrounding him is enough to put anyone off but Pauly in his fug is content. He's warm enough standing on the grating above a warm air vent, and it's not raining. All he has to do right now is wait. He's good at waiting.

Inside the brick warehouse the secretaries from the Clerks Club are gathered round a table preparing for what they know amongst themselves as "phase two". This is the complicated bit of their plan, well it will be when they get to it. Just talking about it is the easy part.

'Alright, Saturday night, everyone here? The lads will bring all the crates and cases. The Mummies themselves stay in the crypt. We'll flog them when the fuss has died down. Yes?'

There are nods all round, Mr Stammetts adds,

'I've asked around, we can get a decent price on them, same split?'

Mr Budge nods,

'Yes. Everyone in agreement? Good'

'What about the Night Watchman?'

'That's all been sorted, Nick?'

Nicholas Boyle grins at the other men,

'Cousin of Cassie and mine. It's partly what gave us the idea. They do their rounds clockwork, every ninety minutes. The round takes forty minutes, so we've a period of two hours give or take to get it done.'

'Good.'

'Will they move them straightaway?'

'I reckon on a Sunday they'll want to get them stored as quickly as possible.'

'It's the risky bit isn't it?'

'It is, but we've got an in with a journalist. Going to raise a stink about the security of our national treasures.'

'What's in it for him? The journalist?'

'Killer of a story isn't it?'

'Reliable is he?'

'No. He's a shit of the first water, but, he'd never give up a source. It's the Code'

The secretaries all nod. They too have a Code, though it's not as imperishable as that of the Fourth Estate.

'Alright then. Saturday night. Lawrence you going to check the crypt again?'

'Alright. I can do that. Tomorrow?'

'Tonight if you don't mind'

Mr Wells nods. The household to which he is attached has two secretaries and his evenings are somewhat freer than the others in the group. As he leaves the warehouse he doesn't pay any attention to the dosser lying on the grating. It's a common enough sight. The homeless clamour to any warm air vents in alleyways and ginnells where they won't be moved on. He doesn't notice the man ease his greasy way up to standing, before he falls in behind him at a little distance. The distance is fine. All Mr Krendler needs, all Lord Westport needs, is the location of the crypt.

.....................

'Dr Price, I don't mind being in on a Saturday but why am I here right now?'

'Brian? Oh, yes, sorry. Thank you. We had a bit of a think at home, and Tim is quite keen a few of us should gather to compare notes on the matters we discussed. My sibs will be along in a bit, Tim has done a good job on the old sleuthing front'

Brian Zeller blinks. So, his boss definitely thinks there's something up. Or the Major does. Or something. He hears the bell go at the mortuary doors.

'Right ho, Dr Price I'll get that shall I?'

'Hmm? Yes. Sorry Brian.'

Whatever it is that the doctor is reading it is certainly distracting him. At the door Brian lets the two other Price siblings in along with Mrs Bloom and a friend of hers called Miss Verger. Adelaide Price smiles at him,

'Sophie will be here shortly Mr Zeller. I think Sgt Matthews may have gone to assist her in purchasing some buns. We have some tea and some milk and I took the precaution of bringing some cups'

'Right. Hello Miss Price, err, that's very nice. Err. Who else is coming. I think I better move the bodies in the autopsy room, we won't all fit in the lab.'

Mrs Bloom smiles at him,

'Bodies? Really? Have you made a start?'

'Not yet. They both look like hypothermia which is a damn shame. One of them's a veteran. And I think I'd better go and cover them at least. Dignity and everything'

'Oh yes of course. I'm so sorry. It's just very interesting being able to tell so much about a person from their mortal remains'

Mr Zeller looks at her and slowly nods. Of course it's absolutely fascinating, but he doesn't know many women who share that view. Actually scratch that, he doesn't know very many women at all.

They're all saved from further analysis when the bell goes again. Outside on the doorstep, Miss Price, Sgt Matthews and Miss Katz are all huddled under a large gamp as it has just begun to drizzle more persistently. They come bearing two large paper bags which turn out to contain a range of buns and gingerbread.

Down in the autopsy and mortuary room Dr Price has already thought to cover both their current non-living visitors with sheets expressly for this purpose. The room, as ever, is a little chilly but the group are all dressed for walking out of doors in the London autumn. And now, just past the autumn equinox the sharp cruelty of Winter is creeping closer as those two who succumbed to the cold might attest.

Adelaide Price lights the spirit stove, fills the kettle and tea gets under way. Major Price grins at his brother and then faces the gathered group,

'We've made some progress. We've got answers to all the questions we asked ourselves on Wednesday. And of course we now know Lord Westport's Mummy was stolen the very night we were discussing the Situation!'

The way he says it gives it an emphatic capital "S".

"Why we've gathered today is that I think we can safely say we've a better handle on what might be going on. Jims? Over to you'

'Well. I'm sure you're all far too high minded to read The Tattle Crime, but Freddy Lounds has really outdone himself. Here, I've bought extras, it's the front page and then a double page in the centre section'

He pauses to hand out copies of the newspaper and the group quickly scan the pages.

'I'm not sure I quite understand this?'

'What Jims and I think is that Freddy Bastard Lounds, ahem, sorry ladies, has had some kind of tip-off, hence this article.'

His brother rapidly interjects,

'You must know Freddy declaring an interest in the sanctity and security of fine arts and historical artefacts is about as likely as, err..'

'The other police surgeon forgetting to tell you about his new cravat in exquisite detail'

Dr Price snorts,

'A good example Mr Zeller, perfect in fact, but not one everyone will be familiar with'

'Ooh do you know Dr Chilton too?'

Mr Zeller and Dr Price look at Mrs Bloom and the three of them grin.

'Anyway, its very unlikely. So, we asked ourselves what might be behind this little foray into fermenting indignation about the security at the British Museum and we wondered if there might be a thing'

'A thing?'

'A plan. Afoot. It's hard to say what exactly but something. Involving the Mummies and the British Museum some way. Maybe a coup against the Trustees? Or some plan to reclaim some of the artefacts we pinched from the colonies or conquests, sorry Tim, nothing personal. Or some kind of statement about public funding and public institutions. Or some other political shebang'

'So, we thought we'd have a little pow wow and see if we could come up with anything and maybe Barney might be persuaded to take anything useful along to his boss at the Yard'

Barney Matthews nods,

'Of course sir. If we come up with something that proves useful, I'd be glad to'

'Good show'

Sophie Price smiles as Barney Matthews goes a little pink at the praise.


	9. Chapter 9

A little before what civilised people might regard as tea time Brian lets himself into the house where he rents rooms. As he closes the door and locks it behind him he's surprised to find his landlady hovering in the hallway.

'Oh, Mr Zeller, I'm so glad you're here'

'Hello Mrs Schurr, is every thing alright?' He eyes her clenched hands warily,

'Oh Mr Zeller, I didn't know what to do. Miss Boyle is here, I've put her in the parlour,'

'Cassie? Well. Did she say why?'

'Just that she needed to speak with you and that it was awfully urgent. I've given her some tea. She's been here a good hour already. I hope that was the right thing to do Mr Z?'

'It's very kind of you Mrs Schurr. I'll find out what the problem is. Thank you'

'Oh no, not at all. And Mr Z, let me know if there's anything I can do won't you?'

Brian smiles at her, she's good as landladies go, concerned for his wellbeing, but not too nosey. And Mr Schurr is interesting too. The daughter though? Marissa? An utter hussy. Though as she's an only child her parents dote on her every word and deed. Brian thinks she might well be better known as Miss Deed!

He shakes himself a little and takes a few deep breaths and pushes open the door into the parlour. Inside Cassie Boyle gets to her feet quickly,

'Oh Brian! I'm so relived to see you, you have to help. I beg you'

Brian blinks once or twice. It's almost as though she's forgotten that not five weeks ago she'd gone out for tea with him one afternoon and with scarcely any lead up she'd handed back his ring. Just like that. An engagement broken in the twinkling of a tiny diamond set in platinum.

'Hello Cassie, Miss Boyle, please, have a seat, tell me what the problem is?'

Cassie looks at him and flutters her eyelashes just a little, inwardly he rolls his eyes at the not so subtle flirtation,

'Oh Brian, don't be like that, not so cold, really, there's no one else I can turn to'

He sighs a little,

'Cassie, it's fine, really, just tell me what the problem is'

And to his own surprise he finds that really he is alright with it. In a split second he thinks instead of the flashing amusement of Miss Katz. She wouldn't bat her eyelashes. Cassie's voice brings him back into the moment,

'It's Nicky, he's done something stupid. Or he's going to. I do so need your advice. What ever shall I do?'

'Alright then, tell me everything you know'

.................

'Miss Price? I'm so sorry. Are Dr Price and the Major available? I really need to speak with them if I may? Please'

'Brian, goodness, hello. Just a, oh Miss Boyle, my goodness, yes of course, do come and sit, in the drawing room, I'll just fetch them both along. Can I get you anything at all? Some refreshment?'

A triple brandy thinks Brian, with a brandy chaser, oh, don't bother with a snifter just bring the whole damn bottle,

'Just some tea maybe, if that's not too inconvenient?'

'Not at all, come along and sit'

She leaves them in the drawing room and once the door is shut she races pell mell down the hall and stairs to the kitchen,

'Boys! Mr Zeller and Miss Boyle!!! In the drawing room. Whatever can be the matter?'

The twins exchange glances, the Major endeavouring to ask by eyebrows alone whether it is that kind of trouble maybe? And his brother correspondingly communicating, also be eyebrow semaphore, that he thinks it unlikely.

A tearful Miss Boyle explains to the Price siblings over tea,

'Nicholas, that's my brother, he's a secretary, to Lord Falcon? It's a very good post. He's a member of a club for clerks and secretaries, of gentlemen and the like.'

She gulps, and Adelaide Price encourages her,

'Go on Miss Boyle, you're doing very well'

'They've got some kind of scam going. I'm not quite sure what exactly'

Timothy looks at his brother and wordlessly mouths 'Lord Falcon's secretary?'

'Go on Miss Boyle, do you have any detail at all?'

'Only that's he's involved our cousin. He's a ngihtwatchman. Some museum stores or something, or a gallery'

'Oh? Do you know which one?'

'The old stores, for the British Museum, some private gallery took it over I think. Or something. It's in Bloomsbury? Next to Montagu House?'

'I see. Your brother, Nicholas, he didn't mention anything about Egyptian artefacts did he?'

'No' she begins cautiously, 'but he kept talking about our mother, maybe because she's my cousin's aunt by blood? But it's odd because she went off with Mr Booth, three years ago. Good riddance to old rubbish is what my Pa said!'

Jim Price leans forwards,

'Did he use the word 'mother' or did he say something else?'

'Oh, its shameful, he was so childish and sentimental, he kept calling her "Mummy" which is very odd as we never did, even when we were tots.'

Jim and his brother exchange looks,

'So it's definitely the Montagu House site? Where your cousin works?'

'Yes. They kept it when they split the museum and all the animals and things had to be stored before they were moved to the new site. But it's been leased now I think. But what does it mean? Can you do anything?'

'Miss Boyle, don't you worry. I think it's entirely likely we'll be able to help. Can you manage to keep this absolutely quiet for a day or two?'

'Oh of course sir, I won't say a dicky bird. I'm utterly reliable in all things'

If none of the men mention the recently broken engagement it is because they are too gentlemanly to allude to it.

'Miss Boyle, do you have any idea of their schedule'

'Well something's happening this weekend. For certain. Nick came home this morning, he sent a message to his lordship saying he was unwell, but he's fine. Nothing wrong at all, so there must be something, mustn't there?'

............

'It's alright I was almost up'

There's something almost comical catching a man unawares of a morning. Jack Crawford has got as far as his shirt and tweeds held up by a natty pair of red braces. There's a small amount of shaving soap on his face that's he's missed that makes him look somehow vulnerable. Sgt Matthews manages to keep his face straight in front of his boss,

'Sir, I'm sorry to trouble you at home, and so early, Dr Price though, he's got something for us on the Mummies'

'Couldn't wait eh?'

Jack Crawford regards the men, oh and two women on his doorstep. One of them is Miss Katz, so they've brought the big guns along then.

'Come in, there's a fire in the parlour. I'll ask Twinkle to make some tea. Yes Miss Katz, Twinkle. I don't know why'

The Price brothers, Miss Price, Mr Zeller, Miss Katz and Sgt Matthews cram into the small parlour, an air of tired excitement about them. Like children who've stayed up past their bedtime until they are crying with tiredness but who are also desperate not to be banished up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire.

Miss Katz pours the tea when Twinkle, the parlourmaid has brought a tray and all the fixings. Jack Crawford comes back into the room now with collar, tie and a rustic tweed jacket. Major Price eyes the virility of the tweed rather longingly. Nothing like a decent pair of plus fours! Jack is rather pleased that none of the men have claimed his preferred chair,

'Alright then, give it to me. What's happened to get you all excited?'


	10. Chapter 10

Major Price begins,

'The Mummies were all returned to the old British Museum stores last night! The news has already been leaked to Freddy Bastard Lounds but it missed the earlies. It'll be in the next run of the presses, along with an impassioned plea to protect our national heritage. Yes Jim, I know, don't interrupt, they're really Egypt's national heritage, let's not argue that right now, alright?'

His brother nods so the Major carries on,

'This may well mean the Mummies will be moved, as a matter of some urgency, into the new stores'

Jack interrupts,

'Which are in the basement of the new building?'

'Yes they are'

'Alright then. So the Mummies get safely stowed. There's a catch, isn't there?'

The assembled group smile as one, Jack Crawford's not a whole wheel of cheese in the Met for nothing.

'It's quite clever. Not all the Mummy cases will have the original Mummy inside. Some of them will have one of the little gang of conspirators inside. Probably wrapped in the original bandaging if they're smart. And we think they are. At least some of them'

'Because if anyone spots them or opens the cases and they try and get away..?'

'The poor soul will have the beejesus scared out of them and think the Curse of the Mummy really is a thing after all'

'When they're chased by some re-animated High Priest who has been dead for three thousand years or so,'

'Exactly! Very fin de siecle and everything'

The group look at Mr Zeller,

'What? I have culture, not just in petri dishes.'

Dr Price laughs, and Jack Crawford asks

'So, they're inside, and they what? Oh. Of course, they'll pinch something. Probably portable and valuable? Right?' 

Once again everyone nods,

'Not to rain on your Jubilee Street Party and all, but how do you know all this?'

Everyone carefully doesn't look at Mr Zeller, he sighs, 

'The brother of my former fiancé is one of the conspirators. She overheard some of the plan. Their cousin has also been dragged into it. And after a considerable amount of.....' he chews over his words, 'persuasion, both Nick and his cousin have coughed up the dope'

Mr Zeller and Major Price carefully remove their hands from sight, Jack Crawford decides not to enquire too closely about the nature of the persuasion that might have been used. 

'I see. So. You're proposing what exactly?'

'There's probably an hour or two before the hue and cry reaches Lord Cotton or any of the other Museum Trustees, if we can get a message to him to get the transfer moving this evening we can have people ready in the museum for them. Waiting outside the stores. Or at the exits when they've actually half inched what they came for'

Everyone rolls their eyes at the Major using Cockney rhyming slang, but it's common enough, Jack Crawford's lip twitches,

'Alright, that's nice. I could imagine they'll extract themselves promptly, unwrap themselves a little, do their business in the museum, maybe lock themselves into the stores and then, come morning, unwrap themselves properly and saunter out with other visitors and work crew?'

The group nod, this is more or less what occurred to them too, Jack leans forward,

Just to check, how on earth did you get involved in this Miss Katz? Apart from Lord Avon having an un-vested interest, his Mummy not being stolen and all?'

'Ah, well, we didn't know where you lived you see, or rather Dr Price didn't, he thought I might, I didn't either, but I thought Miss Price might know where Sgt Matthews has rooms, and that he'd know where you live. You see.'

She smiles a little, Jack raises an eyebrow,

'And you certainly weren't going to be left out were you?

A brighter smile illuminates her face,

'Ah, Superintendent, you know me so well, and we've barely crossed pens so far'

'The pen being mightier than the sword and everything?'

'Good to see you're keeping up Jack' 

And just like his parlourmaid she positively twinkles.

..................

Lord Cotton lives up to his name and cottons on very quickly to the scheme. With both his lordship and Jack Crawford on board everything swings into place quickly and smoothly.

There's no interference in either the afternoon or evening runs of The Tattle Crime, both of which stridently demand action to save the Mummies. Lord Cotton even goes as far as to suck up the negative commentary that the Mummies maybe were never really lost, just mislaid and sent to the wrong stores. Instead he drafts notes to all the other Trustees of the British Museum ready to be dispatched after the events are safely concluded. After all, if the secretaries are involved how far has the rot spread? 

Of course he trusts his own man Wells, but it's the fellow's weekend off, and Crawford did insist in secrecy, so he's borrowed Miss Katz from Lord Avon to prepare the notes. He'll be jolly glad he did this later on when Mr Wells is arrested.

Alongside this, Jack Crawford has assembled a nice bunch of nimble and or hefty members of the Metropolitan Police Force who by the evening are stationed around the museum; in ornamental cupboards and armoires, in empty sarcophagi, in particularly large Greek amphorae, and in plain sight amidst collections of costumed mannequins, Sgt Matthews making a particularly fetching Aristotle in toga and sandals. 

...............

Inside the casket of Prince Amenhateshaphotep Mr Budge sweats in the carefully re-wrapped bandaging. Although he made himself a face mask of linen to wear beneath the ancient wrappings he has a horrible sense of claustrophobia, the sides of the casket crowding in. What if Mr Buddish can't extract himself? What if no one releases them? What if? What if? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to re-read Poe's collected works last night? A Premature Burial? He shudders a little. Far to prescient of his own current circumstances.

The six secretaries in the cases are dispersed amongst all fourteen stolen Mummies. The men are the thinnest and lightest of the conspirators, even so they've had to add a little weight to the other eight caskets so the difference isn't too noticeable. As they sense their casket being lifted and then carried they stay as still and quiet as possible. The cases have all been nailed shut again, just Mr Buddish's left loose so he can pry it open. Now they just have to get to the new stores.

The six porters from the British Museum, grumble happily as they shift the last of the fourteen cases onto the carts. They wedge them carefully with blankets and cover them with some tarpaulin. They're not anxious to advertise their cargo. As they start to move across the cobblestones each of the secretaries has reason to wish they'd thought to pad the inside of the caskets with blankets. The rough ride is murder!


	11. Chapter 11

Mr Buddish listens and waits. Eventually he hears the voices of the porters recede. He can't quite make out the dial on his pocket watch and even when he lifts the glass carefully he can't quite tell what the time is by feel alone. He counts to 300. 600. 900. Fifteen minutes. Then another 300 for luck.

Carefully he pushes up against the lid of the cedar casket only loosely tacked down. The pegs give and he's able to slide the lid off as he carefully sits up. He finds that the casket has been set on three trestles. He leans the lid against the casket and then climbs out. Twenty minutes later the other five men have been released. They keep their bandaging on. Just in case they run into any of the nightwatch doing their rounds.

Mr Buddish lights three lanterns that had been hidden inside the casket with him, the lucifer sputtering and sparking as it's struck. The group turn to look at Mr Budge.

'Alright. Wells, you and Stammetts hit the Crete and Ancient Greece hall, Buddish, you and Silvestri should visit the Romans, Hobbs and I will head for Egypt and then the Anglo Saxons. If you see anyone, stow the bags and start staggering around, got it? Make the most of the whole Curse of the Mummy business. You saw the illustration in the Tattle Crime? Like that.'

The five other men grin.

'We'll meet back here in two hours. Any questions?'

'What happens if we really do get caught?'

'You won't be. It's foolproof. Boyle's cousin has been spreading the rumour that the new stores are haunted and that the great hall is built over an old lazar house. Anyone who sees us will either run for it or drop dead from fright!'

The six men open the door to the stores and divide into their three pairs. They shuffle off.

.................

Up on the third floor Sgt Matthews watches as two Mummies walk quietly through the mannequin rooms. If Mr Crawford or Dr Price hadn't warned him they'd have fair given him the heeby jeebies. He hears one of the Mummies say,

'Blimey. Some of these are pretty lifelike. Look at him? Who's he supposed to be?'

'Says it's King Alfred. You know, with the cakes and everything?'

'Alright then. Fair enough. What about him? Who's that? That's rubbish'

'Says it's Aristotle. Greek philosopher'

'Like Socrates?'

'Probably. Not very good though. No one looks like that'

Sgt Matthews prays he won't blush under their close scrutiny.

'How do they know what they look like anyway?'

'Coins and things I suppose. Or statues. Maybe. For the English ones for sure. Maybe the foreign ones too'

'Oh. Yes. Of course. Good point. Coins. Ubiquitous too'

The two Mummies carry on speaking as they pass through the room, finally when he can no longer hear them Sgt Matthews slumps a little. At least they hadn't physically poked him.

An hour later he hears the two men before he sees them and he re-adopts his scholarly pose. They pass him without incident or further comment. As they leave the room the light flickers and Sgt Matthews supposes they've probably gone down the great staircase. Cautiously he follows out of the room to the top of the grand white marble flight of stairs, below he sees the glow of two lanterns reflecting off the white of each tread, ethereal and ghostly.

.............

In the early hours of the morning the British Museum Night Watch and the metropolitan Police gather briefly in the Great Hall. The secretaries are all back in the main museum store. Inspector Sumner who is in charge on the ground has been instructed by Jack Crawford to wait for the morning when the men attempt to escape with their loot, catching them red handed. Here at 5am, the shift popularly known as 'sparrow fart' by all those working nights and earlies, the men are waiting for the Mummies to make this final move.

.................

It's all over by breakfast. The six secretaries are apprehended and taken into custody at the nearby police station before being hauled off to Scotland Yard. By eleven o'clock Superintendent Crawford has the loot in front of Lord Cotton and several of the curators and Trustees of the museum. 

Of Lord Cotton's two secretaries only Wells was involved in the gang. Even that is shameful to the Lord who has prided himself on being a good judge of men. Mr Fuller, his other secretary makes no comment on his colleague's perfidy and silently drafts a release for the Press, a messenger takes copies to the Tattle Crime, the Times, and the Guardian's London offices. It makes the afternoon run of the press, Freddy Lounds going all out to claim the successful role played by the Tattle Crime in apprehending the gang. 

Jack Crawford grits his teeth about it. All the same, overall, Lord Cotton is very pleased and will no doubt drop a word in the ear of the Home Secretary. And that won't hurt Mr Crawford's budget requests next quarter.

...............

Late that evening there's a tea party at Lord Avon's home to celebrate the successful resolution to the case. Although there's some moderate congratulation between the members of the group several of them are acutely aware it's taken no actual skill on their part to solve the case. In the end it all came down to the lucky coincidence of Miss Boyle and her brother being known to Mr Zeller. 

Jim Price reflects that's a little unsatisfactory as these things go. No science involved, just a lucky sequence of relationships and events. Mr Zeller slides over a plate of cakes, towards his boss, his mouth half full of sandwich, he swallows hastily,

'Everything alright with you Dr P? You're looking somewhat abstracted'

'Oh ignore me Brian. I think I'm just a tad disappointed, perhaps. In the end it was just a sordid bit of theft. Certainly with a little twist, but nothing especially to exercise us.'

'You'd have liked it to be not so, easy?'

'Yes. But it's not just that. Not really. Eight of the caskets were complete. The other six, well, I know those chaps used the bandages, something out of a gothic horror for goodness sake, but well. It is odd.'

'Odd? Oh. I see. Where are the actual Mummies?'

'Exactly. They weren't in the stores and Mr Crawford told me that they persuaded Budge to reveal the place where they were originally kept, some crypt in Shoreditch, but there was nothing there. Budge swears black and blue they didn't move them.'

'So we're still missing six Mummies?'

'We are. But I can't for the life of me, imagine why?'

....................

'Good bit of work Sgt Matthews, well done'

'Thank you Mr Crawford, sir'

'Six still missing though. Any thoughts on that?'

'Not sure sir. Dr Price wondered about that too'

'Did he now? Do we know which ones are missing, don't tell me the Egyptian names just which household they belonged to'

Sgt Matthews consults his trusty note book,

'Well sir, Lord Falcon, Lord Catchpole, Lord Ashmole, Lord Finchley and Lord Westport. Oh and one came from the British Museum's own collection.'

'Anything strike you?'

'No sir, just the secretaries, although one of the gang was Lord Cotton's man Wells. Nothing else. Except they are all Peers.'

'Hmm. They all are. Not sure it takes us much further. Anyway. Doesn't take away from the fine bit of work you've put in.'

Sgt Matthews goes a fetching shade of puce.

'Thank you sir!'


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be slow posting, beloved partner got a new job so we're trying to find a flat, move house (and city), me carry on with current jobs and academic papers I must write!!!! I have deadlines. And find time to type up and post!!! Obviously this is what I'd like to be doing more than the other things. I hope it's obvious!

Life returns to normal. The police are occupied with yet another wave of refugees from Imperial Russia, and Dr Price and Mr Zeller have an interesting case of a suspected poisoning when someone drops dead in the middle of dinner. His head landing slap bang in the middle of the Sunday roast with all the trimmings. Dr Price identifies it as congestive heart failure, the man's main arteries being so layered with plaque that there's no room left for the blood to flow. The result is a relief to his young bride and her attractive 'friend' who'd been tentatively accused of poisoning her rather older husband of only six months. 

Miss Katz gets Lord Avon through the first reading of the Home Rule Bill in Parliament and all of its attendant paperwork and cross party consultation.

Miss Verger and Mrs Bloom make the somewhat brave decision to risk the wrath of Miss Verger's odious brother when Miss Verger takes up defiant residence in one of Mrs Bloom's houses along side her friend.

Sgt Matthews, hardly believing his good fortune when she agrees, asks Sophie Price to walk out with him one Saturday afternoon. They spend a pleasant time in the gardens near Kensington Palace and then take tea in a Lyons Corner House.

Freddy Lounds turns his odious attention to other newsworthy stories: Lord Redding and one of the Royals and an escapade that does not amuse Her Majesty rather pointedly; the scandal surrounding an Ambassador to the Court of St James from one of the new break away republics in Central Asia; and the visit of the Crown Prince, heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne.

Lord Westport though? Lord Westport bides his time. And holds interviews for a new secretary.

..................

When the first of the missing Mummies reappears it is with a whimper rather than a bang. He's dressed in an overcoat, long trousers, a muffler and cap and is found on the back seat of the top deck of the number 1 omnibus at its termini at the Elephant and Castle by a rather startled driver. Dr Price is called in to check on the body. It doesn't take long for him to establish that it's one of the missing Mummies,

'Assuredly Mr Crawford the service isn't wonderful but it doesn't take 3500 years to get from the Angel to the Elephant!'

Mr Crawford tries not to smile at the indignation on the face of Mr Wade the man tasked with keeping the city moving to a greater rather than lesser extent. The omnibus driver has to be sent home to recover. He'd accidentally loosened the arm of the Mummy when he'd attempted to waken the apparently sleeping desiccated old gent. The arm had almost come away in his hands!

Dr Price and Mr Zeller had the decency to wait until he'd left to make series of related puns,

'Really, he was quite 'armless wouldn't you say?'

'I would Dr Price, the driver might've thought he just wanted to lend a hand'

'It's not humerus though'

'No, he made a poor fist of the job!'

'Couldn't even point a finger at the culprit'

Sgt Matthews smiles indulgently at the two men as they wheeze with laughter.

The Mummy is reunited with his casket. The contemporary clothes are poured over, no laundry marks, no tailors marks, the coat is second hand and of reasonable quality, the trousers less good but still serviceable, the muffler hand knitted homespun. Nothing that couldn't be found in the better pawn shops of from one of the many clothes dealers in the east end. A mystery then. But one which seems to lead no further.

The Major and Dr Price discuss it over supper with their sister Adelaide,

'There must be something going on, yes Adelaide, thank you. The seed cake is delicious. But, dash it all, what can it be? And I've only got another week of leave'

'Oh yes? Where next? Can you say?'

'It's a bit hush hush, but, well, I think I can say Continental Asia'

His siblings laugh,

'Alright Tim that's only half the globe! I'd hoped you'd be here rather longer'

'So did I. Rather! But you know, Queen and Country and all that'

'Cry God for England, Harry, and Saint George?'

'That's the ticket. Shame though'

Adelaide raises an eyebrow at her brother's wistful tone, she recognises it's cadences,

'Who's caught your eye Timmy?'

The Major allows his older sister the pet name, he looks rather shiftily between Adelaide and Jimmy.

'Did I say the seed cake is awfully good?'

Adelaide and Jimmy exchange rather pointed glances,

'Tim?'

The Major shuffles his feet, twiddles the waxed ends of his moustaches, clears his throat once or twice, sips at his already empty cup. He side eyes James and Adelaide,

'I thought Miss Katz was rather spiffing'

'Yes she is Tim'

Adelaide carefully doesn't look at James, she's heard all about his endeavours to nudge Mr Zeller and Miss Katz in the same direction.

'I know I'm a little old for her maybe. But she's a sparky thing. I'm taking her out for tea on her afternoon off don't you know?'

He blows through his moustaches as if to declare a fait already accompli.

Later that evening Adelaide says quietly to Jimmy,

'We should do nothing. Tim will be gone in a week or so. It'll leave the field clear for Mr Zeller'

Her brother nods, and suggests,

'Might even galvanise him wouldn't you say? Bit of competition? Dashing military man like Timothy?'

Adelaide looks at her brother fondly,

'That's not all a girl looks for in a man you know. All that derring do and international japes, it's nice to actually see your chap sometimes. Chance to walk out, catch a matinee, go to an exhibit and so on'

'Not only the girls Ads'

'I know sweetheart. Still. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. That's what they say isn't it?'

'It is. Though I don't think they know what they're talking about at all!'

He sighs sadly, his devoted sister reaches over and pats his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all the deliciousness in the comments, and everyone reading and subscribing! So very kind of you.
> 
> Right. Back to the Iron Age!


	13. Chapter 13

Wednesday comes around and Major Price is busy paying attention to his toilette in preparation for his afternoon outing to Regent's Park Zoo followed by tea and maybe an early evening performance at the Lyric. Miss Katz having agreed that she could indeed be available and wasn't expected back until after dinner time.

Whilst the Major is titivating himself Dr Price and Mr Zeller have been called out. A body, probably natural causes, but can't be too safe when it's one of the better parts of London and there are apparent multiple heirs.

They arrive at the imposing house in Belgravia and are amazed when the door is opened by Sgt Matthews.

'Oh, what a relief Dr Price, Mr Z. It's Lord Falcon! He's completely dead!'

Mr Zeller wonders for a moment what incompletely dead might look like.

'Oh! Well! There's a thing!'

'No. No! It's worse than that!'

Worse than dead too? Extraordinary.

'I'll show you, come along. Mr Crawford is with the Butler. Lady Falcon and the honourable Miss are away I don't know where the two sons are. We've sent a telegram to her Ladyship!'

The three men climb the stairs and follow the trail of police into a large, well appointed bedroom. Sgt Matthews indicates the bed,

'Oh! I see what you mean sargeant. Well there really is a thing!'

The two men lean in,

'Dr Price what is that? He looks, he looks, and I can scarce believe it, as though he was frightened to death!'

'He does Mr Zeller. He truly does. And the victim's not doing too well either'

'Dr Price' admonishes his assistant, 'you really shouldn't. His poor Mummy'

The two men look at one another and try very hard not to laugh in an utterly unacceptable albeit understandable way. 

'That's very good Mr Zeller' whispers Sgt Matthews. 

The three men share a moment of silent mirth. The Mummy lying abed next to Lord Falcon provides a tidy counterpart to the deceased Peer. Indeed the maidservant who'd brought morning tea hadn't noticed at first that it wasn't her Ladyship returned early from the country. 

Jack Crawford comes into the room,

'Ah, good job Dr Price. Below stairs they're saying it's the Curse of the Mummy'

'That's all down to Freddy Bastard Lounds isn't it?'

'I'm 'fraid so. So. What do you think?'

'Well, oddly enough if it wasn't for the Mummy I'd have said it was natural causes. I wonder if whoever planned this hoped either the household or the police would be especially credulous?'

'Could be' Mr Crawford frowns, 'some of my men were distinctly unnerved by the Mummy and the tweeny had hysterics all over the cook. It's a good job her Ladyship is away, there's no sign of luncheon. And no one's even thought to offer us a spot of tea'

Both Dr Price and Mr Zeller look suitably horrified. The Met runs on tea and, well, more tea.

'Will the family kick up a fuss if we take him along for an autopsy?'

'Hard to say. Can you do an external and when her Ladyship gets back we can find a way to ask?'

'Alright. Good enough. I'll ask about the family's undertakers'

'Oh, I've got that, the butler thought to find it. Of course Falcon's secretary was one of the Mummy Mob'

Jack catches Jim Price's eye,

'Not my sobriquet, but it's stuck. So, I'm going to guess that these cases are somehow connected?'

'They must be. But I honestly can't see how. It's baffling!'

'Me neither. Two Mummies, one dead Lord. Do we even know if it was his Mummy? No funny business Dr Price, I saw that smirk'

'Sorry, sorry, hard to resist sometimes. I'm afraid I don't know. We may need someone from the museum to tell us.'

Mr Zeller smiles at his boss and asks,

'Do you want us to take him too?'

Jack Crawford looks at them both and makes a face,

'Could you? I think that'd be a help. The Omnibus one has already gone back to the museum hasn't it?'

Mr Zeller nods,

'Well then, let's have him back, check which Lord he belonged to. Matthews can you get on that?

Sgt Matthews nods and makes a note in his ubiquitous pad. Dr Price sighs,

'You're right, if they're going to start turning up it's probably better to have them all together, wouldn't you say?'

'Yes, I think so. It's hard to see isn't it. Two events, random dots on a map. Three and we might see a pattern, but I'd rather not have another. Unless poor Lord Falcon really was scared to death, and it was a jape that went wrong. His boys are tearaways'

'Not like you it be superstitious Jack'

'I know' he looks at the dried out husk that was once a great pharaoh, 'gives me the willies though. You know?'

The four men regard the Peer and his Mummy. The willies indeed.

..................

In the resplendent tea rooms Miss Katz laughs. Major Price is full if entertaining anecdotes and acerbic asides. He's a funny and attractive companion and both alike and utterly different from his twin. And Miss Katz has always had an affectionate regard for Dr Price.

But she's also aware that the Major will be off again in a week or so. Still, this is a nice idea and she will enjoy it,

'Do you think Dr Price is a little disappointed?'

'Because the solution was so mundane?'

She nods and he grins at her,

'Jimmy does like a bit of a challenge you know. You heard about the Mummy on the omnibus?'

'It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke doesn't it? Yes I heard. His Lordship says it's the one from the British Museum'

'Is it? That wasn't in the papers was it?'

'No. He got it from Lord Cotton. Oh. Wait. Lord Avon's a Trustee of the British Museum, has that not come up before? I suppose not, it's not under his title, it's a family thing'

'Is he now? Are any of the other Lords involved Trustees? Actually Avon isn't directly involved, his Mummy wasn't stolen. Or the fact it wasn't stolen may be the thing that makes him interesting in the case? I suppose you've realised that might be down to you?

Miss Katz leans forwards,

'Yes. It occurred to me it might be. But as for Trustees I don't know if any of the others are, I can ask Lord Avon. Can you mention it to Dr Price? There are 56 Trustees altogether'

'Alright I will, I might pass it on to Jack Crawford too.' He pauses a moment, 'He likes you doesn't he?'

She smiles at him,

'There's some mutual respect there. Lord Avon had a burglary a few years back. Well. An attempted burglary. I'm afraid I hit the chap with a bust of Pliny. Knocked him out cold!'

The Major laughs,

'Did you now! Pliny the Elder or Younger?'

'Excellent Major Price, that's what Mr Crawford asked too!'

The Major chuckles and they smile easily at one another.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back to posting. Small confession? In the house move I lost all my notes, plot structure and research. But! I found them again. Not where they'd been put! The Curse of the Mummy strikes again!
> 
> Check out the wonderful art done by lewendigogo sponsored by a wonderful anonymous commissioner! How lovely. To view go back to chapter one as it's embedded there. It's really worth the detour!

In the evening Adelaide lights the oil lamp in the kitchen and sets the table for a moderate evening supper. She hears the door at the top of the stairs go and then steady steps on the staircase. Probably Timmy, of the two, he has a heavier footfall. But it's followed soon after by a lighter tread which is Jimmy.

The two brothers settle at the table and Adelaide passes cutlery and crockery and the various cakes and sandwiches cook had put up earlier. She smiles at them both. They're both brimming with a particular kind of familiar excitement.

“Alright boys, who’s first?”

The men eye each other as Adelaide pours the first round of tea from the Prince Albert pot. So called because the handle looks like his ears poor fellow. Dead now for five years. Jimmy had been called into the formal autopsy on the Prince. Just to check. He's always been very tight lipped about it. She suspects a story there but has restrained herself from enquiring too closely. Tim takes advantage of the pause and jumps in,

“Well! I had a walk and a tea with Miss Katz! It was splendid.”

His siblings smile genially at him, neither letting on that they rather hope the ball is in Mr Zeller’s court as far as Miss Katz is concerned. Jimmy waves his hand in a ‘go on, do’ motion, The Major needs no further encouragement.

“Apart from the fact it's dashed awkward I'm off in a week, I'd say it was a perfect opening. You know? What?”

His siblings continue to wait him out,

“I mean, dash it all, I like her very much! And she has a very satisfying and most pleasing sense of humour. Don't smirk Adelaide. Of course she laughed at my jokes. She thinks me most amusing and entertaining!”

“I bet she does.” Mutters his brother. “Anything further Tims?”

“Just that. For now.”

He adds, perhaps a trifle defiantly. 

“What about you Jim? Don't hold back on my account old fellow.”

Jimmy Price smiles, it isn't that often he gets to get one over on his brother,

“Well. We've got a suspicious death and a resurrected Mummy!”

Adelaide manages a faint “good lord!” Whilst Timmy stutters,

“Damn it all. You buried the lede! That tops even Miss Katz!” 

He pauses,

“Though don't tell her I said so.”

He pauses again,

“Please.”

………………

“Miss Katz?”

Beverly Katz turns to see her employer hovering in the doorway of his office. Although in theory it is his office he tends to rather think of it as her sanctum. To which he is admitted as a propitiating acolyte who comes bearing gifts and other offerings to a usually merciful and benevolent deity. She turns and smiles at him, still removing a pin from her hat. She lays both down on the side of the desk.

“My Lord? Good evening. How may I help?”

“Well, I suppose first of all, did you have a good afternoon?”

She smiles broadly, he's a little nosey but she knows its concern for her welfare more than anything else. He may be all for the emancipation of women but he does worry so. A benevolent pater rather than an overbearing patriarch. Though not without its irritations occasionally. Still. Better this than a wealth of other possibilities. Why are they a ‘wealth’ she wonders to her self? Really the dearth of openings available to gentlewomen such as she should be known as a poverty of opportunities. Not his lordship’s problem though, not this minute. 

“I did Sir, thank you. Tea and a perambulation round a park with Major Price.”

“Oh yes? The doctor's brother? I thought he was off in Bokhara or some such?”

“I believe he was. But not right now. He's been in on the Mummy business.”

“Yes? That's what I wanted to ask you about?”

“Oh? How so my Lord?”

“You might not have heard. Falcon’s been found dead. It's in the evening edition. Freddy Bastard, I beg your pardon Miss Katz, Freddy Lounds has an article and a picture even. Do you want to see?”

He waves a paper in Miss Katz’s direction so she reaches over the desk to take it. It's even made the front page.

“Oh! I see! My goodness, how unexpected. Did they actually let him in to take it?”

“I think it's been enhanced. I expect it's two photographic plates sort of fused together. One with Zeller and Dr Price and the other is probably some mock up of a Mummy and someone who honestly doesn't really look like Falcon at all. Except that's not surprising. In the circumstances.”

“No.” She echoes faintly. “It wouldn't. I'm sorry for his wife and children.”

She pauses, the two Falcon boys are tear aways and as for his daughter, this will either be the making or breaking of her, she's a timid little thing but with fire within. Or so Miss Katz hopes, thinking to make a mental note to send her a special little card of condolence with some sensible hints.

“What? Oh yes. I suppose. Will you send a card round? Make sure I don't forget to sign it and everything. Yes?”

She nods.

“Is the death suspicious?”

His Lordship snorts,

“Beyond the whole ‘Curse of the Mummy’ business?”

She nods,

“Hard to say. Of course Lounds is speculating like a man possessed. But honestly? I think you'd have to ask Dr Price?”

“Yes. I might. It's a good photograph.”

Lord Avon comes round the desk and leans over her shoulder peering down at the tight columns of newsprint broken by a picture of the two men and the dead Lord Falcon and the Mummy.

“I suppose it is. I wonder whose Mummy it is?”

“Who it belonged to? Or which burial it came from?”

Lord Avon smiles as he straightens up.

“Mainly who it belonged to. And if it was Falcon’s in the first place. Do you know who owns the one that turned up on the omnibus.”

Miss Katz blinks, oh yes, she's supposed to ask Lord Avon about the Trustees of the British Museum. She'd promised.

“It's one from the British Museum collection. The original case was actually used by one of the Mummy Mob.”

Lord Avon rolls his eyes, they are in agreement that it's a stupid name for the conspirators but damned if it isn't sticking.

“Yes? I don't know whose Mummy this is. I suppose it might be his own. He wasn't anyone particular was he?”

Miss Katz shrugs,

“He must have been at some point in his life. Just to have been mummified at all. He meant something to someone.”

“I do beg your pardon. I rather meant he's not a Prince or Priest is he? He's not Finchley’s Mummy?”

Beverly shrugs her shoulders again,

“There were six missing. Of the original fourteen that were taken. Does the article say anything?”

“Only that the mob swear up and down and sideways that they left those six back in the crypt. So really this could be Finchley's or any of the others?”

“I suppose. I forgot to ask Dr Price which ones were still in their cases when the police managed the raid. Oh yes. I meant I ask you if any of the Trustees personally lost a Mummy or just the museum as a whole.”

His Lordship opens his eyes wide in surprise,

“Oh. I hadn't thought of that at all! Well me, though, well, I didn't lose mine. Lord Ashmole of course, the Duke of Lichfield, not Lady Catchpole or Lady Redding, not Lord Finchley, though his brother in law is, though he rarely comes, Lord Westport, you know? And I suppose Cotton counts as he's the chair and in effect it was his responsibility. Of the others who lost Mummies? Hmm. Not Lord Edgemont. I don't think. Is that all?"

She nods. It's still strange.

“Thank you my Lord. There must be something behind it. I just can't see what as yet.”

He pats her on the arm,

“If anyone can find out. I'm sure you shall. Now, do tell me about the rest of your afternoon?”

She smiles,

“Have a seat my Lord, Major Price is a fount of amusing stories.”

……………


	15. Chapter 15

Lady Falcon having agreed Lord Falcon is laid out carefully on a slab in a lab in the basement of St Bartholomew’s hospital. Mr Zeller and Sgt Matthews manage to make no comment about the whole ‘lab and slab’ thing that the porters casually throw around as they agree where and how his late Lordship will be deposed.

Dr Price shoos them out and casts a look of Sgt Matthews,

“Barney? Will this be alright for you? You don’t have to observe if you’d rather not. There’s no need. I don’t think Superintendent Crawford would expect it of you.”

“It’s very kind of you Dr Price, but I’d consider it a favour if you let me.”

“Oh yes?”

Barney Matthews shuffles a little and a faint flush spreads across his cheeks, Dr Price tips his head to one side and considers him.

“Barney?”

“Sir. Well. It’s just that the lads at the Yard think I’m a bit soft.”

He sighs,

“I made the mistake of clipping some poetry from one of the newspapers. For Miss Sophie.”

“Did you now. That seems thoughtful of you. May I ask who caught your eye?”

He looks a little shifty again,

“Edward Lear Sir. They were re-printing the ‘Owl and the Pussycat’, there was a most amusing drawing to accompany it. I thought she might like it.”

“’they took some honey and plenty of money, wrapped up in a £5 note’? Interesting man, interesting writer too. I can see why you thought she might be amused. But not so your colleagues?”

“No, Sir.”

Dr Prices smiles a little,

“Well, let us go some way to re-storing your reputation as a bruising member of the Metropolitan Police Force. With the emphasis on ‘force’. Shall we?”

“Sir.”

“And I suppose that a stint as Aristotle didn’t help either?”

“Sir.”

“Well then. Stand over there. Mr Zeller? Have we the eucalyptus?”

Mr Zeller takes up three cotton masks and then empties half a small bottle of essential oil into an enamelled kidney bowl, so named for its shape and not for its contents. At least not right this moment. The sharp scent of eucalyptus pine fills the room, not quite enough to make their eyes sting but enough to distract all olfactory sense and sensitivity. Mr Zeller dips each of the masks into the bowl and then wrings them out. He keeps one for himself but hands the other two to the doctor and the policeman.

“Sgt Matthews, you might like to sit over there? Out of our way but in line of sight? And the mask will help with the smell. I’m afraid it’ll be somewhat unpleasant once we open him up. Do we know what he had for supper last night?”

Both Brian and Sgt Matthews look through their notes. They both shake their heads, though Sgt Matthews does say,

“I know Mr Crawford asked them to keep back any left-overs from last night. Just in case it turned out to be poison. But it became clear, after a bit of probing that the cook and the butler finished up the remainders in a late supper. So, at least we know it wasn’t in the salmon mousse. Or kidney pudding. Or whatever they had.”

Dr Price nods,

“Oh well. Shame. Poison is always useful. Can you smell almonds by the way. Neither Mr Zeller or I can. It seems to run in families.”

Sgt Matthews looks utterly at sea, so Dr Price explains,

“Cyanide smells like bitter almonds. When we open him up, if he’s been poisoned, after dinner at least, then we’d be able to smell it. But not everyone can. I can’t and nor can Mr Z. We used to have a porter who could, he was very useful. Caught three people that way. Do you know?”

Sgt Matthews shrugs so Dr Price just smiles again,

“Alright chaps. Masks away.”

All three men draw the cotton masks over their faces covering their mouths and noses. He picks up a scalpel from the table next to the slab and holds it up to the light.

“Ready?”

And makes the first cut.

....................................................

At the Yard Mr Crawford looks at Budge with something close to loathing, Mr Budge looks like he might snivel a little.

“I honestly can’t tell you anything more. Our interest was only in getting into the museum, and out again, for preference. We were going to sell the mummy bodies afterwards, for the trade, you know?”

Crawford nods. He’s learnt rather more than he’d like to know about the various uses for ancient cadavers. Ingenious perhaps but he can’t help thinking that once upon a time these were living breathing fellows. He considers for a moment. He doesn’t actually know if women were ever mummified. There must have been queens and pharaohs wives he supposes, but none of the ones that have been stolen are female. Are they?

“I know. But what about the crypt? Surely you would have noticed in anyone was hanging around?”

“No one said a word. And it’s not exactly deserted down there. There are always people hanging around, sleeping on the grates. Carrying on their personal business.”

Crawford grunts, the area is somewhat known for the presence of those whose affections may be negotiated, both lads and ladies. And therefore their customers and ‘friends’. He sighs to himself, it’s certain to hinder any investigation as any witness to anything to do with the Mummy case will have multiple reasons for keeping quiet.

“And none of you were followed? How many times did you meet down there?”

Mr Budge slumps, this isn’t what he’s used to in the slightest. He’s filthy, he’s a split lip which no one seems to care about, he’s been beaten up twice, and he’s had barely enough to eat or drink. At least here in the station they’ve actually brought him tea. He gulped the first cup down noisily until it occurred to him that Superintendent Crawford might have thought he was buying his cooperation. Well fine, but he’s got nothing more to give, nothing further to cooperate over. This other business? No clue at all. 

“You should try the others. They might know something. The chaps whose Mummies are missing.”

Crawford nods,

“Thank you for that astonishing insight. Of course we’re asking them. Do you know whose Mummies were used?”

Mr Budge shuffles in his seat, the ankle shackles are biting into his legs and the ones around his wrists are heavy and drag on him.

“Mr Hobb’s, Mr Boyle’s, Mr Stammetts, Mr Wells, Mr Silvestri and Mr Buddish.”

Mr Crawford blinks,

“All right then. And which Lords do they belong to?”

Mr Budge looks at him in surprise,

“Oh. I see. Well. The Duke of Lichfield, that’s Hobbs; Lord Falcon, that’s Boyle; Lord Finchley, that’s Stammetts; Lord Cotton is Mr Wells; and Lord Ashmole Mr Silvestri.”

He pauses,

“ The last one is Lady Catchpole’s mummy but Mr Buddish is her husband’s secretary.”

Crawford nods and turns to look at the police constable standing against the wall taking notes.

“Get all that?”

The constable nods and Crawford turns back to Mr Budge.

“So, tell me, why Mr Boyle?”

Mr Budge frowns, why is Crawford interested in Boyle?

..........................................................

Dr Price looks down at the two mummies laid side by side, he consults the notes sent over by the curator of the Egyptian gallery at the British Museum.

“I think this first one, from the omnibus is Lord Cotton’s. Well, when I say that, I think it’s the one still missing from the Museum. The other? From the description of the wrappings from the packing company, I think it’s Lord Ashmole’s. We’ll have to get him in. Who was his secretary?”

Sgt Matthews flicks through his notes,

“Mr Silvestri. I don’t know that he’s especially connected to Mr Boyle. He was Lord Falcon’s secretary.”

The three men look at each other. Dr Price shrugs,

“Oh well. Brian, time to get out the blackboard and chalk. Let’s start a diagram. Barney, could you ask your boss if by any chance they know which mummies have come back and which haven’t and who they all belonged to and who the secretary for each household was.”

Mr Zeller pulls the old easel out from the corner and sets up a blackboard on it. He divides it up into six neat squares. And connects Lord Falcon/Mr Boyle to Lord Ashmole by a single dotted coloured chalk line.

They stand back and look at it. Dr Price makes a sour sort of face,

“And that’s as far as we can get so far. Pathetic isn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an Archaeologist and not a historian, so there'll be some glaring historical innacuracies for sure. But I might squeeze in some good bits of archaeological history. Just for kicks. The good news is I was brought up in London (or near enough, alright, alright, it was the suburbs but shh don't say a word), so most of the geography will be alright. As for the rest, well, I've got an encyclopaedia and I'm not afraid to use it.
> 
> This fic is already written I'm just trying to be a bit disciplined and not update three times a day every day for a week and have exhausted my delicious readers.


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